Reflections of an Immortal Waitress: Buffy
by Unitarian Jihadist
Summary: 1998: In a Los Angeles diner, a friendship with Buffy during her "Anne" phase brings back ancient but still painful memories for the Immortal Waitress, in more ways than one.
1. Chapter 1

Reflections of An Immortal Waitress: Buffy

1998: In a Los Angeles diner, a friendship with Buffy during her "Anne" phase brings back ancient but still painful memories for the Immortal Waitress, in more ways than one.

**Buffy the Vampire Slayer and all affiliated characters are the intellectual property of Joss Whedon and the people of Mutant Enemy, and the copyrighted property of 20th Century Fox. Rhonda the Immortal Waitress was Joss Whedon's original conception for the character who would later become Buffy. The connections I draw between Whedon's Immortal Waitress germ of an idea and Greek mythology are my own, and in turn are based on an idea that has rattled around in my head for over 30 years (**_**geez**_**, I'm old!). "Hugo" refers to a character created by Phillip Wylie. I will also make a reference to characters created by Robert B. Parker (who will be greatly missed). I use all these characters without permission for my enjoyment and hopefully the enjoyment of others. **

**One last thing. I have already written a Reflections of An Immortal Waitress story involving a meeting between the narrator of this story and Angelus. The difference in narration styles between the two stories is meant to reflect the differences in time period. Also, this story will be considerably longer. More happens in it. **

**With that in mind, here we go.**

Chapter 1

Anne

I arrived in Los Angeles from San Antonio in July. It was getting harder, in these days of computers and background checks, to change identities. If I had become immortal as someone between the ages of 30 and 60, I could hold onto an identity longer, but when you are stuck as a permanent 18-21 year old, it doesn't take long for people to notice that you don't appear to be getting any older. And I don't like being noticed. It's been my ambition in life to escape notice, and I have been working to fulfill that ambition for over 3,000 years. It's kind of an ongoing thing.

So, ironically, I moved back to LA, a place where people go to get noticed, in order to become just another face in the crowd.

For old times sake, I applied for a job at "The Diner", an eggs, burger, and grease shop close to Hyperion and Titan. When I worked there last, the place was known simply as "Eat". Back then, it catered to laborers who were building the first freeways. Now it catered to the truckers who traveled I-5. In fact, The Diner was under a permanent shadow from the freeway.

The name may have changed, but the place smelled the same, a mixture of cooking grease overlaid with axel grease and human sweat. My kind of place, at least for this century.

My hopes for just another dull way station on the road of my endless life, though, ended as soon as I saw the waitress on duty.

She was blond, short by today's standards, which still meant that she had an inch to an inch and a half on me. Pretty, maybe even beautiful. She looked like the thousands of would be actresses who came to Los Angeles in hopes of being discovered, or the hundreds who were lucky enough to fail, leave, and ultimately go back where they came from.

In other words, she looked ordinary in a very attractive way.

But she wasn't ordinary. The way she moved told me that.

When you possess literally supernatural strength, there is a gross imbalance between your physical power and your mass. Most living organisms derive their strength from their muscle mass, so there is a balance. For those of us with supernatural strength derived from a mystical or divine source, however, there is no such balance. If I exerted the same amount of effort most people use to walk, I would propel myself twenty feet high every time I took a step. My movements have to be very small and gentle for me to pass for human.

Over the last four or five centuries, the only breathing human beings I'd seen who moved like this waitress did were myself and a guy I once met on Coney Island who went by the name of Hugo. There were slight differences. I could lift a city bus, maybe even two. I suspected that Anne might be limited to a Hummer. Hugo could have lifted the diner with the bus and the Hummer on top of it.

She didn't seem to notice the careful way I moved, however. In fact, she didn't seem to notice me at all. Usually, of course, I was OK with that. This time, however, I actually _did_ want to get noticed a little.

She looked in my direction without really looking at me.

"You can sit anywhere you like," she said.

"Actually, Anne," I replied as I looked at her name tag. "I was hoping to see the manager about a job."

Since I went off script, Anne now looked at me rather than just towards me.

"You'll have better luck if you order something first," she said. "Mitch likes applicants who order his food before they interview."

Anne then looked at me a little more closely. I wondered if she was now noticing that I moved carefully too.

"You know, Mitch is pretty much a creep. Are you_ sure_ you're interested in working here? You don't look as desperate as I did when I came here..."

She let her voice trail off, and I realized she was waiting for me to tell her my name. I wasn't wearing mine on my chest.

I hesitated for a brief moment before remembering I was Martha in San Antonio.

"Rhonda," I said, putting out my right hand. Anne took it. Both of us pretended to give each other a firm handshake.

Anne, I realized, was like me in more than just the superhuman strength in a petite body kind of way. She, like me, was wanting to escape notice. To pass for human.

"I'll take a slice of apple pie," I said. "And an application."

"The apple pie?" she repeated. "You really do have guts."

Anne walked towards the kitchen. Then she looked back at me over her shoulder.

"He'll hire you," she said. "You're his type."

She was right. Twenty four hours later I was working alongside Anne, wearing a matching white dress with a red checked apron and, also like Anne, carrying glasses like they were made of old sugar cubes.

I was told it would be a week before I got my name tag. In the meantime, I would have to remember that I was now Rhonda without having a reminder pinned to my chest.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Good Advice

As was usual for a new job, I started out on the late shift. The Diner was open 24 hours a day, so that meant I worked 11:00 PM to 8:00 AM. Anne worked two shifts, from 8:00 AM to 4:00 PM, and from 5:00 PM to 12:00 AM. Not the best way to avoid getting noticed, because working two straight busy shifts required the constitution of Thor (I'm not exaggerating, that boy had quite the constitution).

My shift, on the other hand, was pretty light. There was a spike of activity when the bars emptied out at 2:00 AM and some of the drunks came in for a coffee and a danish chaser. But overall, duty (and tips) were light.

But that was OK. I figured turnover was high and that I would soon work my way to a busier shift.

Mitch, the owner, was about five foot three and three hundred pounds (although he carried it amazingly well). He showered maybe once a week, and that kept me from eating too much of his food. He had four other cooks working for him, three of whom he insisted served with him in Viet Nam. I suspected that Mitch was fibbing about his military experience, unless he was ten years older than he looked. It was possible, but I didn't think it likely. Mitch didn't look like a guy who would be older than he looked. Not everyone can be like me.

Mitch for the most part kept his hands to himself, and his remarks clean. Some of the older waitresses (meaning those over 19) whispered that Mitch used to be an ass grabber, but that things had changed since Anne started working there. Knowing what I did about Anne, I wasn't surprised.

As for Anne, she didn't say much to any of the rest of the girls. And since our shifts overlapped only by one hour, this pretty much meant that she said nothing to me at all. She kept to herself a bit too much for someone who wanted to avoid notice. Me, I made some light friendships, even went out dancing with a couple of the girls. I was good at not being exceptional, and while that meant not being too friendly, it also meant not being too standoffish.

One night, Anne ended her self imposed silence to tell one of the waitresses on her shift to stay in public areas on her way home, and to stay away from alleyways and places where there were no witnesses. Sensible advice for anyone, but it was interesting how much emphasis Anne put on her warning. I suspected that I knew why, and that she wasn't just thinking of muggers and chicken hawks. I also suspected that Anne herself did not follow her own advice.

But then, Anne's advice was for prey, and I was sure she was an alpha predator.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Night Stalkers

Midway through my second week, I got my break. Mitch moved me to second shift when one of the waitresses decided that Hollywood wasn't going to notice her, and that the only red carpet in her future here in LA would be worn and grease stained.

The first night was busy. A lot of rigs stopping by to get a burger before they moved on to San Diego, San Francisco, or wherever the Tartarus they thought they were going. There were also the usual, to put it meanly, whores, who were trying to get the attention of the truckers or just score some food to dilute the drugs in their veins. There were also kids. Runaways.

Anne, I suspected, wasn't any older than many of those runaways, but I almost felt sorry for any chicken hawk who had tried to "recruit" her (and almost certainly, some of them _had_ tried, she was too cute). They tried to recruit me once in awhile, and while I always dissuaded them quietly, I also always found a way to work a little pain into my dissuading, and I suspected Anne did as well.

The first rush ended around 8:00, but another one started up around 9:00 and lasted until about 10:30. By the time Anne and I finished our shift, however, things were pretty dead.

That was when Anne decided to give me the talk.

"Rhonda," Anne said. "Have you been in LA long?"

"No," I answered truthfully. "I came here from...somewhere else."

I knew Anne would respect my privacy, as I respected hers.

"Yeah, well, it's dangerous here," Anne said. "And I am not just talking about the chicken hawks."

I briefly considered teasing her by asking her what a chicken hawk was, but I decided against it. She was so cute when she was serious.

"On the way home, stay on the public streets," Anne continued. "Don't take any short cuts, never go anywhere where there are no witnesses, and don't dawdle."

"OK," I said, and I meant it. I had no intention of being a hero. Being a hero made you a center of attention, and that was the last thing I wanted to be.

The first three nights, I followed her advice. The fourth night, however, as I left The Diner, I heard a scraping sound from one of the roofs. Without moving my head, I looked up, and saw a cloaked figure leaping from the roof on one side of the street to the roof on the other side of the street.

Vampire.

I briefly contemplated walking on, but I decided not to. Call it a vague sense of civic duty. Or, maybe it was that I was 99% sure that Anne was the current vampire slayer. I had only known one other, but she was perhaps the last human being I had ever loved.

So, against my better judgment, I ran into the nearest alley, and jumped up onto the roof of the nearest building. The vampire was already about three roofs away.

"Shit," I whispered to myself. But I still followed her (from the way she moved, I could tell it was a her), staying about three roofs back.

We traveled this way, the vampire and I, leaping from rooftop to rooftop for about half a mile. Finally, the vampire stopped, so I stopped, still three roof tops away.

Suddenly, the vampire leapt off the roof and to the alleyway below. I immediately started to jump the last three roofs. By the time I reached the last roof, I heard the sounds of fighting coming from below. I jogged over to the edge of the roof and looked down.

Anne was wearing blue jeans and a black tee shirt. She was also wearing a worn backpack (I suspected her waitressing clothes were in it). Anne was also fighting four vampires, including the cloaked one who had just jumped off the roof. As I watched, two of the vampires imploded into dust (which is what happens when they are destroyed). The cloaked vampire immediately turned and ran while the other remaining vampire, also a female, attacked Anne. Anne backhanded the vampire with her left fist. The vampire flew across the alley and literally bounced off the brick wall and onto the point of the wooden stake Anne held in her right hand. Anne turned her head as the staked vampire imploded, then exploded, into a grey cloud of dust. Anne looked around quickly and then up, and I hastily backed away from the edge of the roof.

It was clear that my hypothesis was correct. Anne was a vampire slayer. It was also clear that she was far better at it than my long dead friend Cassandra had been in her day. Contrary to any worries I might have had, she didn't need my help.

I quickly jumped four rooftops away before jumping down into an alley. As I started to walk out of the alley, however, a voice spoke up behind me. A voice that spoke in a language I had not heard in nearly three thousand years.

"Well, Helene of Sparta, Troy, and the Amazons," the voice said. "What a truly _unexpected _surprise!"


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Evil Consumes Evil

I couldn't speak. I couldn't move.

When you are over 3,000 years old...

When you have outlived your child, your grandchildren, and lost all track of your descendents...

When the world you grew up in is remembered only in the unreliable writings of succeeding cultures now also long dead...

When you are immortal and physically unchanging...

When you are all of these things, the _last_ thing you ever expect to hear is the voice of your long dead mortal sister.

I took one breath. Then another. Then three more. When I finally spoke, I tried to sound nonchalant.

In other words, I lied like a washed bedspread in a no-tell motel.

"Clytemnestra (not exactly her real name, by the way). You never write, you never call, is that any way to treat your sister?"

"_Half_ sister," Clytemnestra corrected.

"How about not really my sister at all, if you want to get technical?" I said. "I know what you _really_ are."

Clytemnestra laughed. Or, more correctly, the thing wearing her corpse laughed. She was wearing a pea coat and a hooded sweatshirt, which gave her the cloaked look I had noticed earlier. As she laughed, she threw back her hood.

"What?" Clytemnestra said. "Do you no longer acknowledge the family resemblance?"

The face that was revealed from under the hood came as a shock, although I should have known enough to expect something like it. There was hair only on the rear part of the head. The front of the face and the front half of the scalp was ridged. The ears were as pointed as Mr. Spock's, and the eyes were the color of piss. The teeth, and particularly the canines, were so huge that I was surprised she could even speak coherently.

In short, she was hideous. Although, it you want to know the truth, my own half sister's soul was every bit as ugly as the demon that had ejected it.

It was this way with master vampires, ones so ancient that the blood demon circulating within literally shaped the corpse it inhabited into its demonic aspect. And since my half sister, unlike myself, was mortal, this meant that I was looking at a vampire sired over 3,100 years ago, which made her by far the most ancient vampire I had ever seen.

How could I not have known?

"So, sis," I said. "Been in LA long?"

The thing that was once my half sister, a very, _very _long time ago, chuckled drily.

"I've been _everywhere_ long," she said. "But then, I suspect _you_ know what that's like."

I was torn. I didn't have a wooden stake on me (here I am, over 3,100 years old, and I _still_ make mistakes like chasing vampires without a stake), but I could still try to rip Clytemnestra's head off her body. On the other hand, I had an irresistible urge to catch up. After all, even if this thing was just wearing my half sister's corpse, and even if I hated my half sister for murdering the best friend I ever had, this vampire still had Clytemnestra's memories. She was the only other link back to people and a world only she and I truly remembered (well, except for my asshole half brother on my immortal father's side, but we weren't talking, and I hadn't seen him in over 900 years).

It took me almost a full second of deliberation to decide I would rip Clytemnestra's head off.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

The Limo

Funny thing. Clytemnestra elected not to stand around and let me rip off her head. In our mortal days, she was gigantic, which meant she was about 5'6", still a good deal taller than my 5'1".

And, she had the strength of an ancient master vampire.

I still managed to grab her arm, and we wrestled around a bit, but she was able to use her superior arm length to keep me away, and she managed to get a good hold on my hair and ram me head first into the nearest brick wall.

It hurt. And it distracted me while she threw me into the cement wall on the opposite side of the alley.

If I'd been heavier, I would have gone through the wall. As it was, I left a nice crack in it as I bounced off. In fact, I think I may have blacked out for just a second, and when I opened my eyes again, the demon in my half sister's body had hightailed it.

Maybe Anne needed my help after all.

I walked out of the alley and into the nearest street. It took me a few seconds to get my bearings, and, not having anything else to do, and not having any idea where Clytemnestra was, I decided I might as well go home.

So much for staying out of trouble, and not being a hero. Fortunately, no one had seen me, so I figured I'd be good to go back to work the next day. I figured I would try to catch Anne on break and warn her that a very ancient master vampire was in town, and was probably gunning for her. I really didn't have much use for watchers (the very pragmatic and cold men and women who "trained" and "watched over" slayers), but hopefully he, or she, would be of help to Anne. Slayers tended to do well against rank and file vampires, but not so hot against master vampires.

Me, on the other hand, I've taken down a few master vampires in my time. None as old as the thing that wore my sister's body (couldn't exactly say she was wearing my sister's _face_ any more, though), but I was pretty confident I could take her down. Maybe the best thing for me to do was to follow Anne, and be ready.

Assuming that Clytemnestra didn't decide to get out of town.

While I was preoccupied with thoughts of hated half sisters turning into demons, I failed to notice the limo slow down beside me as I walked along the street. But I did notice when the window slid down, and a handsome but arrogant looking kid in a suit looked out at me.

"Helen, right?" the man said.

Geez. Someone _else_ who knew who I was?

"_Rhonda_," I corrected. "And you are?"

"Lindsey McDonald," the kid said. "I represent Wolfram and Hart."

"I have nothing to say to those three geezers (yes, the Wolf, Ram, and Hart were even older than me, so I could call them geezers without irony)," I said. "Take a hike."

"I'm in the car, you're walking," McDonald said. "And who are the three geezers?"

"So, you're just a flunky," I said.

"_Flunky_?" he replied, clearly on the verge of laughing. "Excuse me, but _you're_ a waitress."

I could have told him that I was only a waitress because I chose to be, but I figured I'd already shared enough with a flunky.

"So, are you just being a creepy stalker, or is there an official reason for this conversation?" I asked.

"A client who says he's your brother wishes to talk to you," McDonald said. "And you're right. I'm a flunky. I don't know who he is, or who you are. Frankly, I don't care. I only care about doing my job. If you know who my employers are, you know _why_ I can't fail."

Crap. I went to Los Angeles to not get noticed, and I ended up precipitating a dysfunctional family reunion.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Dysfunctional Family Reunion

I really didn't care what happened to Lindsey McDonald if he failed. Given who and what he worked for, I suspected that he was probably worthy of whatever punishment his "law firm" (at least, that was what they were calling themselves _this_ century) would mete out.

On the other hand, the last time I tried to resist my brother's summons (the aforementioned 900 plus years ago), he'd killed a lot of innocents to make his point. He could be persuasive when he wanted to be. Besides, he almost certainly knew that Clytemnestra, or rather a vampire going by her name, had been walking the Earth for the past three millennia. He might be able to give me background on what she had been up to all that time. And although he and I were both estranged from our father, dear old Dad really _did_ like me best, so he wasn't likely to try anything. With me anyway.

"OK," I said. "As long as you don't try to give me any candy, I'll go with you. But, just in case you're thinking of trying to take advantage of a helpless, 'under aged' waitress..."

I walked over to the limo, put my right hand under the body, and lifted with my legs (no need to strain my back, although any damage would repair itself in about 5 seconds). I smiled as Lindsey McDonald's eyes went wide. The limo was heavier than it looked, and I suspected that it was armored. Still, McDonald slid down to the other end of the seat as I lifted, and the driver, your standard bruiser, was hanging in his seat belt.

I lifted the left side of the limo over my head, almost tipping it over, and held it there for about 5 seconds to get my point across before letting it down gently. McDonald controlled himself well. The bruiser looked like he was about to puke.

McDonald even gave me a sardonic smile as he opened the door for me.

* * *

McDonald kept his mouth shut on the way to the local Wolfram and Hart office. That was wise on his part.

The Wolf, Ram, and Hart, also known as the Shadow Men, were older even than my father. Some said that they had been men themselves, long, long ago. But even if they'd been men once, they had long since become something else. Something ageless, powerful, and very, very patient. It was said that they had created the first slayer, and certainly the Watcher's Council belonged to them, as did their two other secret societies, the "law firm" Wolfram and Hart, and the Circle of the Black Thorn, which was more hands on.

What the Shadow Men represented was Hell, actually several hells. In fact, one of them was the hell that belonged to my uncle Hades. The rulers of these hells were of the theory that Earth and the universe it resided in was once a hell dimension itself, and only needed some patient nudging to return to that state. The rulers of other hells weren't as patient. They were of the opinion that Earth and the universe should be torn down and started over. These hells tended launch invasions through hellmouths. The hells represented by the shadow men tended to resist these invasions. One of their favorite disposable weapons were teenaged girls with superhuman strength.

But, my half-brother was the Shadow Men's chief gofer. In other words, he was their chief policy implementation specialist and leg breaker.

And if you want a leg breaker, you couldn't do much better than a renegade son of Zeus.

The limo slid up to the back service entrance. The Los Angeles office of Wolfram and Hart looked like a six storey glass building, although I knew for a fact that it was far larger on the inside than it looked on the outside.

The bruiser turned off the car and came around and held the door open for me. When I got out, he edged away from me, just a little.

Intimidation works wonders.

McDonald got out of the car and pushed the door bell. The metal door opened, and a woman answered. Dark haired, elegant, and cold. She gave McDonald a look of pure venom, and he returned the look with interest.

"Miss Rhonda Troy?" the woman said, then put out her hand without giving me a chance to answer. I took it. When I released it, McDonald looked disappointed I hadn't crushed it. "I'm Lilah Morgan."

She then looked at McDonald and gave him a smile that was saccharin covering a taste like almonds.

"That will be all, Lindsey," she said.

Lindsey McDonald's answering smile was frozen on his face. Evidently, Lilah Morgan was a more privileged associate of Wolfram and Hart, and McDonald was not a good sport about it.

It wasn't just Lilah getting to escort me to my brother that told me she outranked him. _Her _bruiser was bigger.

And the final clue as to their difference in rank? Lilah's bruiser shut the metal service door in Lindsey McDonald's face.

Looking very pleased with herself, Lilah Morgan led me through the mail room, a low level staff cafeteria, and into an opulent entry way. Lilah, her bruiser, and I all got into the elevator. The music was the standard Muzak interpretation of The Girl from Ipanema. The elevator doors opened again just as it was getting to the good part.

As we got off the elevator, Lilah stopped smiling, and it was apparent that, just like Lindsey McDonald, she was a flunky, just a little higher ranked flunky.

"Your...appointment...will be joining you shortly," Lilah said to me. "Can I get you anything? Tea, water, we also have a fully stocked bar."

"No," I replied. "I just want to get this over with."

Looking disappointed that she had no excuse to hang around and maybe find out a little more, Lilah Morgan shook my hand again.

"Uhm...if you need anything..." she gestured vaguely at the bruiser who had accompanied us.

"Mark," the bruiser said helpfully.

"_Mark_ here will be able to call for it," Lilah finished. Then she walked off as "Mark" and I walked into the conference room.

As the bruiser closed the door quietly behind us, I turned and looked at him.

"So, Heracles (not exactly his name either, but it will do)," I said. "What name are you going by now?"

"I still like the Roman sounding names," Heracles said. "I'm Marcus Hamilton these days..._Rhonda_."


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

The Mother of All Monsters

"So, _can_ I get you anything, little sister?" Heracles, also known as Marcus Hamilton, asked.

"You know I won't trust anything you give me," I said.

"That's silly, Helene," Heracles said. "When I went into Hades' employ, and the employ of the senior partners, a deal was made. The senior partners may consider you fair game, but_ I_ have to keep my hands off of you. You _know_ that."

"So why am I here, then, big brother?"

"Same reason we met the last time, little sister."

"You want me to avert an apocalypse? Does it involve my late mortal twin sister, by any chance? By the way, thanks so much for telling me about that."

Heracles shrugged.

"We didn't consider it important," he said.

"It's important to me," I said.

"Well, but you aren't all that important to us," he replied.

"Except when you need me, or when your senior partners think their Watcher's Council has an opportunity to kidnap me and tap my power."

Heracles chuckled.

"_Most_ of the time, you aren't all that important to us" he amended. He was an arrogant bastard. I have to say it is something of a family trait.

"So what makes Clytemnestra so important now?" I asked. "And why aren't you dealing with her?"

"Things are happening, Helene," Heracles replied, excitement coloring his voice. "Can't you feel it? We're finally getting close to the tipping point. That means that everyone who is a player is stepping forward. There are even rumors of First Evil sightings in Sunnydale."

I felt cold. If Heracles said they were close to a tipping point, what he meant was that his employers thought they were close to achieving Hell on Earth from within. If that happened, I wasn't sure what I would do. I really didn't want to go live with my father in Olympus. I could barely stand him more than I could stand Heracles. Or would I step forward and wage guerilla warfare against Heracles and his senior partners? That would make me noticed, and I learned a very long time ago that bad things happen when people notice me. But, could I continue to wait tables and keep a low profile if the masters of the Wolf, Ram, and Hart finally achieved their Hell on Earth?

"Then, I ask again, what do you need _me_ for?" I asked.

"Because vampires are an initiative of the other hells, the ones that want to destroy the world and start over," Heracles said.

"Hence the slayers you use as cannon fodder," I replied. "Tell me something I don't know. Tell me something about Clytemnestra."

"Clytemnestra," Heracles said. "You really should have known about her. Why else do you think she killed the slayer?"

"Cassandra (which wasn't exactly her name either, I'm translating here)," I said. "Her name was _Cassandra_."

"Whatever," Heracles said with a shrug of his shoulders to indicate how unimportant he thought that detail was. "Why do you think your half sister killed her husband and the slayer?"

"Because Agamemnon killed their daughter, like the barbarian he was? Or maybe because Cassandra was his concubine?"

"Please," Heracles said. " Agamemnon was Cassandra's _watcher_."

"You mean he replaced _Odysseus_?" I said. "That sucks. Agamemnon was a bigger bastard than Odysseus could ever think of being. And what qualified him to be a watcher, anyway?"

"You're losing the thread of this story, little sister," Heracles said. "Agamemnon was Cassandra's watcher. He was helping her continue to hunt vampires. Clytemnestra and Agamemnon had a son, Orestes. A son who was turned."

"Wait, Orestes was turned into a _vampire_?"

"Yes, and Cassandra was a slayer, and Agamemnon was her watcher."

"So the deluded fool killed Agamemnon and Cassandra to 'save' her son, and when said 'son' came back from wherever he was, Clytemnestra thought he'd be grateful."

"In a way he was, Orestes turned his mother while killing her," Heracles said. "She thought her son was giving her immortality. I am sure that her soul was surprised to find itself in Tartarus while a demon possessed her corpse."

"So what has Clytemnestra the vampire been doing with herself?" I asked. "And why is she so important now?"

"After Orestes got himself staked, which didn't occur too long after he turned her, Clytemnestra began siring surrogate sons. It just so happens that several of those surrogate sons have become master vampires. Kakistos, Hrothgar, Khan, even the fool who eventually became known only as _The_ Master, they were all her 'sons'. Master vampires so powerful that the Watcher's Council didn't even think about sending slayers after them.

"Clytemnestra has generally been happy to stay behind the scenes siring new 'sons' and watching them thrive."

"So what changed?" I asked.

"That slayer you wait tables with, she confronted the Master, Clytemnestra's most powerful child."

"And since she's still alive, I assume the Master..."

"...is not."

"So, you want me to protect the slayer?" I asked.

"Actually, we propose that you let Clytemnestra kill _this_ slayer, if she can."

"I'm not going to do that."

Heracles shrugged.

"Fine," he said. "That would be our preference, but we know you will do what you want. The important thing is, our intelligence indicates that Clytemnestra is starting a pattern that is likely to continue. She is going to start hunting slayers, and we can't have her going around killing slayers immediately after they are called."

I stared at Heracles. This was weird. Normally, the "senior partners" would just send him to do their dirty work. Why not this time?

"Isn't there another vampire who already does that? What's his name? Lothos?"

"Lothos was cooperative with us," Heracles said. "He also had very specific tastes. Besides, he is no longer an option."

Heracles had an uncomfortable look on his face, and I soon realized why.

"Anne," I said. "She took out _Lothos_ too, didn't she?"

I started to laugh.

"You...you all are _scared_ of her!" I said. This was really all too funny. The hidden masters of the Watcher's Council were scared of their own creation. "_That's_ what all this is about. You aren't afraid that Clytemnestra is going to start killing slayers. You're afraid that Anne is going to kill Clytemnestra, another master vampire, and as a slayer she is too powerful already. So you want _me_ to kill Clytemnestra first. That explains your lame assed attempt to manipulate me by suggesting I let Clytemnestra take a run at Anne first. And for some reason, just killing either Clytemnestra or Anne yourselves doesn't seem to be an option. Why is that?"

Heracles looked like he swallowed a persimmon. He wasn't going to answer my question, but the look on his face indicated that there _was_ an answer to that question.

"Relax, big brother," I said. "I'll do it. _I'll_ kill Clytemnestra. But I'm doing it for Cassandra, not for you."

The expression on Heracles' face was dark. He looked like he wanted to come after me. That would have been fine with me. I wouldn't have minded a throw down with my big brother.

But, there were treaties and agreements and all that, so instead he called me a cab, and I went home.

**I know, a lot of name dropping this chapter. For those who found it confusing, check out your local Greek myths book****. For those of you with a passing familiarity with Greek mythology (and I freely admit my own familiarity is "passing"), as you can see I am rewriting things a bit. **


	8. Chapter 8

**This chapter features a brief crossover with my first fic here at Fanfiction dot net, **_**Looking for Buffy Summers. **_**This chapter is dedicated to the memory of Robert B. Parker. **

Chapter 8

The Couple

The next evening, I came to work trying to figure out how to get Anne alone and warn her about Clytemnestra. Just because I agreed to kill her first didn't mean that I would get to her before she got to Anne.

However, best laid plans and all that.

A couple came into the Diner at the beginning of my shift. She was maybe in her late forties, he was somewhat older. She was beautiful, in a dark and luminous way. He was as big as Heracles, with a greyish black crew cut and a trimmed mustache. They went over and sat in Anne's section, and they both watched her closely as she worked.

These people were not the Diner's typical clientele. They were too classy looking, for one thing (particularly the woman). Second, he had a look that said cop. Also, his face darkened briefly when one of the truckers tried to slap Anne on the butt (she dodged it without looking).

I got my own butt slapped while I was watching the couple watch Anne. I interpreted this as a signal to get back to work. I 've had my butt slapped a lot in my lifetime.

It was clear that the couple was not here to partake of Mitch's cuisine. Since they were watching Anne, I suspected they were here for her.

I watched what happened as closely as I could from a respectable distance. I watched as Anne checked them out. I watched as the man handed her a thick brown envelope. And as best I could, I watched what happened afterwards when Anne took a break (she hardly ever took breaks, and since I had to take her customers as well as my own, I couldn't take a break with her). Anne, her expression angry, went out and walked across the street where the couple was sitting in a car (a car that was also too nice for the neighborhood, for one thing, it had only once color of paint on it). The conversation was brief, and when Anne came back, her expression was no longer angry. It was thoughtful.

The car drove off, so whatever the conversation was about, it was done.

* * *

I did not get an opportunity to talk to Anne, and she ended her shift about ten minutes before I did, so I wasn't able to follow her either.

So, I did the next best thing, and completely disregarded her advice. I walked into alleys and stayed out of public places. I only had to evade one would be mugger (I still didn't want to draw attention to myself by beating up a mugger, and I didn't feel like I had the time to pretend to be a victim) before a trio of vampires found me. Three males.

I let one of them drink my blood before throwing him off of me. As he was gagging by the dumpster, I staked one of his friends (I'd carved myself a wooden stake last night) and grabbed the last one by the hair and slammed him face first into the nearest brick wall.

When I turned him around, his expression was terrified. It didn't get any better when his companion, the one who drank my blood, burned up from the inside (Funny thing, being the daughter of a supreme deity made my blood toxic to vampires. I wondered if that was true any longer for my brother, given that he has spent the last 3,000 years working for Wolfram and Hart's "senior partners". That probably lost him some holy points.).

"You're the slayer!" he gasped.

Well, I was short, blond except for some dark highlights, and stronger than your standard vampire, so the mistake was understandable. I didn't correct him. I suspected I might find out more if he _did_ think I was the slayer.

"How did you...?" he asked, looking at the swirling ashes of his companion.

"Drank a canteen full of holy water before I went out," I lied. "Girl's gotta have some tricks up her sleeve."

Then I increased the pressure across his throat with my forearm, although when I think on it, I really don't think there was a point to that.

"Now, tell me where Clytemnestra is?"

"Who?"

"You know, the real ugly bitch."

"Who?"

"The female vamp who goes around with her hood over her face."

"The Mother of all Vampires?" the vamp asked. "Man, does she have it in for you. I'd get out of town if I were you."

"You aren't me, where is she?"

He didn't know, so I staked him.

I ran into seven more vampires that night, and none of them knew either. But I did find out that Clytemnestra was indeed after Anne. One of them even told me that the slayer's real name was Buffy, and that she lived in Sunnydale, home of the world's most active hellmouth now that Dunwich was shut down. This vamp, who knew I wasn't Anne, said something to me about being the "Jamaican's replacement". I didn't bother to ask him what he meant before I dusted him. No one knew why Buffy was now in Los Angeles and calling herself Anne (not that I could blame her for the name change). This confirmed Heracles' sense that something was up. The Watcher's Council usually didn't send a slayer to a hellmouth. When a slayer was sent to the hellmouth, it was usually for a suicide mission.

Ten was a lot of vampires to run into over one night, even for Los Angeles (vampires tend to like runaway destinations), and even for being relatively close to the world's biggest active hellmouth.

I suspected that Clytemnestra had brought many of these vamps with her, and was using them as stalking horses. I wondered if Anne had noticed the increase in vampire activity.

Clytemnestra was being careful, and that made me more impressed with Anne than ever. But it also meant that Anne was in big trouble, because all this caution meant that quite possibly the world's oldest surviving vampire was planning an ambush for her. And as a mere mortal woman, Clytemnestra had already killed one slayer.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

Blind Three Way Girl Fight

The next evening, Anne (a.k.a. Buffy) took off her second shift, so I only saw her in passing as she left and I came in. So much for me trying to catch her during break time this night.

After I finished my shift (Mitch was actually a little more frisky, and not in a good way, since Anne took a shift off), I hurried out the door and tried to figure out the fastest way to find Anne, or Clytemnestra, whomever I could find first. Disregarding Anne's advice last night hadn't worked so well, so I decided this time to take to the roof tops.

It really didn't take me long after that. I moved around in outward concentric circles from the Diner, and on my third circle out, I came across some sounds of struggling in an alleyway. Even before I looked over the edge, I heard the sound of a vampire imploding. Anne was fighting about 8, no make that 7, no 6, big male vampires. No sign of Clytemnestra, however.

My first sign of her was when someone shoved me in the back so hard I hit the wall on the other side of the alleyway on the way down. I landed in a cloud of dust. As I coughed and tried to squint through it, I saw Clytemnestra, hood down, land in the alleyway. Anne was being restrained between two very large vampires, while a third one, even bigger than the other two, was hitting her in the face and head with all his considerable might. If Anne had just been human, any one of those shots would have knocked her head clean off.

As it was, Anne recovered and kicked the huge vampire in front of her in the balls. Hard. While he was bending over, I jammed a wooden stake into his heart. The dust cloud he made was blinding, and I realized that was why Clytemnestra had chosen these guys for her attack. More so even than their strength, she recruited them for the dust clouds they would make.

It was brilliant. She was using big vampires as dust bombs.

When I recovered my vision, Anne, still blinded and choking, was yanked out of the remaining two big vampires' hands by Clytemnestra. I grabbed the closest of the two big vampires and threw him away. The other one turned with a startled look on his face while I jammed a wooden stake into his chest. This time, I closed my eyes as he dusted.

When I opened them again, Clytemnestra was choking Anne. Anne was stronger than a typical vampire, but probably not as strong as a master vampire. Anne's face was almost purple.

I moved to help when something hit me hard in the head, knocking me about 30 feet down the alleyway. I opened my eyes to see the last of the big vampires snarling as he ran at me full tilt. My head ringing, I danced aside and tripped him. Clytemnestra was struggling with Anne, who obviously still had some fight in her, but I suspected she wouldn't for long.

The remaining big vampire then yanked my hair from behind, and having had enough of him, I picked him up and slammed his back across my knee. That startled him into letting go of my hair, but the pull still hurt, and some of my hair came out. It would grow back, although in this case no faster than it would grow for a mortal woman.

Irritated and desperate, I staked him as he was getting up, and I got another cloud of vamp dust in my face. Choking, I ran through it and into another, smaller one.

This one was different, though. It was like an explosion of dust, and while there was dust, there was still a scream. Anne was straddling a jerking, dancing skeleton as it emitted a constant cloud of _greenish_ dust. When Clytemnestra's skeleton stopped dancing and laid still, Anne backed away from it, her eyes wide.

"God, _please_, not another Mas..." she started to say when the skeleton itself crumbled into dust, and blew away.

I don't know how long Anne stared at that spot. I don't know because I took the opportunity to make like a bunny, and run away.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

Moving On

Anne called in sick for her first shift the next day, so I was called in to work her first shift. I suspected Anne called in because the vamp ambush the previous night had put her through the grinder. Indeed, I looked rough when I got back to my little ex-motel room apartment, and I didn't take nearly as much abuse as Anne had, and I healed even faster than slayers did.

Anne healed fast enough, however, that her bruises were already fading by the time she came in for second shift. I could barely see them under her makeup. She was clearly used to covering bruises. It was busy that night, and it wasn't until 11:00 that things calmed down enough for us to take a break.

Anne and I usually didn't take breaks together, so I was surprised when she came over to my table.

She sat down, took a drink, and watched as Mitch came out and wiped down the counter. He must have taken his weekly shower last night, because he didn't smell too bad today.

"Thank you for saving my life," Anne finally said.

"What?" Yes, it was lame, but I was actually taken by surprise. I didn't think she'd actually seen me.

"Yeah, I saw you," Anne said. "At first I thought it was a trick of the light and the dust, and lack of oxygen, but when I stuck my thumb in the hag vamp's eye, I saw you staking one of the big vamps. I wonder where the hag found all those guys."

Anne took a sip from her Diet Pepsi.

"So how long has the Council known where I was?" she asked. "Guess I now know who took Kendra's place."

"I'm not with the Council," I said.

"Really?" she responded.

"Who's Kendra?" I asked.

"Your predecessor, my successor," Anne said. "You know, the slayer who died so that you could take her place."

"Aren't you the slayer?" I asked.

"Ohhhhhh kay, so you are _not_ a slayer?" Anne asked.

"Nope," I said. "But I was sure you were."

"Oh, I am," Anne said. "But what are you?"

"On your side," I said. "That's all I'm going to say, except to emphasize when I say that I am on _your_ side, that is _not_ to say that I'm on the _Council's_ side. And I thought there was only one slayer at a time."

"Usually, that's the case," Anne said. "Funny thing, though, I died a year ago last Spring. Not for very long, a friend brought me back with CPR, but it was long enough to activate the next slayer."

"Kendra?" I said. "Was she Jamaican, by any chance?"

"I guess," Anne said. "Never did figure out exactly where she came from."

"But she's dead now."

"Yeah, I figure there's another replacement slayer out there some place."

"And that's who you thought I was," I said. "That makes sense."

"So why are you here?" Anne asked.

"Believe it or not, I just came here for a job," I said. "Your being here was just a coincidence."

"And you saving me?"

"You kind of reminded me of someone I knew a long time ago."

"You don't look much older than I am."

"Appearances can be deceiving."

"I've learned that," Anne said. She took another sip from her Diet Pepsi. More customers came in. "Time to get back to work."

That was the last time I talked to her. After the shift ended, I told Mitch that I was quitting. He shrugged. He was used to it. I went up to Seattle, and took a job in a coffee house close to Pike Place Market. I worked there for two years, and my name while I was there was Cassandra Anne.

End


End file.
